Tea
by Unresolved Emotions
Summary: "Eragon should have been worried that there was still so much work to do, yet here he sat drinking tea. But as long as Arya was here with him and everything else outside, Eragon found that he could not care less." Drabble.


I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or its characters.

Loosely inspired by the scene in Eldest on page 364(in my edition), but not necessarily set in that time period.

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**Tea**

He felt Arya's eyes follow him around the room, wondering why Eragon bothered to brew tea the mundane way. Using magic would be instant gratification, but the effort he exerted made it taste all the sweeter. Sharing the drink had become something of a routine after the war concluded, for Alagaësia was peaceful and more time was given to such luxuries. An indulgence that they had not been able to share after departing Ellesméra.

The kettle that Eragon patiently waited for began to emit a faint whistling sound, ever increasing in volume. He allowed the irritating noise to cascade through his eardrums until he could bear it no longer; it was screaming for attention and could not be ignored. With practiced movements, Eragon added some crushed nettle leaves to two cups. Gingerly, he lifted the heated container and poured the boiling water into each cup before carrying them to the table where Arya was seated.

The Rider set the saucer in front of Arya carefully, as to prevent any liquid from escaping. "For you," Eragon offered graciously.

Arya accepted his gift with a nod of approval. "Thank you."

Nettle tea was somewhat bitter, but extremely nutritious. In order to offset the less desirable aspects of the herb, Eragon added some honey and lemon juice to his steaming beverage. He watched with mild curiosity as the acidic lemon reacted with the nettles and turned the concoction a mellow pink.

Lifting the teacup to his mouth, Eragon took a tentative sip. He was pleased with the results; it was neither overly sweet nor bitter. The tea was just right. Peering over the rim of his cup, Eragon saw Arya blanch, as she tasted hers. Obviously, she had not added enough honey.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that tea was the one beverage for every occasion. It had soothed Eragon and Arya as they mourned the loss of Oromis. It had relieved the tension when Eragon apologized for his fairth. It was fed to each other when they fell sick with fever. And most importantly, they drank tea in times of comfort when there was nothing more interesting to chat about than the weather.

Across the table, Arya took another sip of her honey-enhanced drink, this time placing it on the saucer with a contented sigh. Eragon silently watched her clasp her hands around the ceramic, trying to keep the tea insulated. From all his experience, he had learned that tea required precise maintenance to please the palate. When it was too hot and steam poured from the cup, it scalded Eragon, leaving him spluttering and desperately fanning his mouth. However, when it was too cold, the tea lost its charm and its aftertaste was unwelcome, no longer soothing his throat.

An amicable silence had settled between them as they slowly consumed their tea. It was not a strained quiet where they felt the need to chatter meaninglessly, attempting the fill the gaps in conversation. No, it was a time of great intimacy, all of the day's stresses forgotten as Eragon and Arya merely basked in each other's presence. But he knew teatime could easily turn into strife and conflict should he ever venture too far past the boundaries between them. One ill-advised comment and Eragon would have steaming liquid launched into his face, a fate he would prefer to avoid altogether.

Eragon raised his teacup to his mouth, disappointed to find it empty. All that was left inside was a faint residue of the ground nettle leaves glistening in the absence of water. Arya stared at him with an intense gaze, causing him to finger the tiny handle unconsciously. She reached for the kettle and poured the still hot liquid into his cup, refilling its contents. He smiled appreciatively at her and amusement tugged at the corners of Arya's lips.

Teatime was not yet finished and they drank long into the evening. They spoke of the distant shadows of the past, the uncertain tides of the present, and the hopeful dawns of the future. Eragon should have been worried that there was still so much work to do, yet here he sat drinking tea.

But as long as Arya was here with him and everything else outside, Eragon found that he could not care less.

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Author's Note:

My second drabble with heavy metaphorical undercurrents. I hope it wasn't too subtle/obvious for any of your tastes, I can't please everyone unfortunately.

Also, I'm getting pretty bored with this book series, so I'm not sure if I'm going to write any more fanfictions for the Inheritance Cycle. I have another one-shot partially written, but it's a depressing piece and I'm not sure if I want to complete it. Just wanted to throw that out there.

Review if you liked the drabble. Friendly criticism is always appreciated as well.


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